My Friend Lael

My recent donation to Jefferson County Relay for Life honors my friend Lael who died too soon from cancer.

I first met Lael when I reported for work at Montgomery County Parks and Planning in 1977. I was coming from a rural planning department in Monroe, Michigan and was dressed in my best “virgin polyester” blouse and skirt, sporting a plastic purse and wearing shoes from the local Shoes for Less.

And there was Lael, a beautiful, well-coiffed, blonde beauty, adorned in a classic outfit, wearing gorgeous jewelry and exuding confidence.

My reaction was immediate. NO WAY were we going to be friends…this Lael person was out of my league.

It did not take me long to discover that Lael was as warm and caring and fun as she was gorgeous and sophisticated.

Lael took me under her wing in 1977 and we went shopping together. First stop: a new purse. “What’s that smell?” I asked when we entered the accessories department at Woodward&Lothrop. “Leather,” Lael replied. I left with a Coach bag. Then we updated my wardrobe. I kept gravitating to navy blue (my growing up in Catholic school uniforms assured I would always gravitate to the Virgin Mary’s color palette) but Lael had bigger plans for me. At the end of the day, I no longer looked like a refugee from the Corn Belt.

We travelled together, most memorably to Argentina in 2005. Lael was so darn much fun. We roomed together for 10 days and laughed our way through Patagonia, Mendoza and Buenos Aires.

In sports, television announcers always refer to special athletes as “the complete package.” When it comes to life, Lael was the complete package. She was gorgeous, elegant, classy yet warm and caring.

Lael died in 2012 and I miss her every day. I can’t figure out why Lael is gone. The world needs more people like Lael. I am just going to have to trust in God that there is some cosmic reason why family and friends have to go on without her.

Maybe some angels need fashion advice.

Covid Days: See Ron work. Watch Lyn Putter

Ron just completed his most recent yard improvement. Using a front end loader and his trusty shovel, he spent hours uprooting the trunk of a 30 year old tree felled in a recent storm.

As we get older, I worry more about Ron around heavy machinery. We’re both getting forgetful. What if he forgets to set the brake and his limbs get shorn off instead of the tree’s?

Ron started his project while I was in the middle of my latest endeavor: putting together a 1000 piece puzzle. I did what any caring, loving wife would do. I moved my puzzle project near a window where I could observe Ron’s progress. I placed my cell phone nearby so I could dial 911 if disaster struck.

All went well for Ron but somehow in moving the puzzle I lost a piece.

This was a brand new, factory sealed puzzle and I don’t remember dropping or misplacing a piece. Nevertheless, due to my carelessness, a mouse lost part of its face and one paw.

A friend and I exchange puzzles and I simply could not in good conscience give her a puzzle missing a part. Armed with glue, cardboard, craft scissors and my printer, I decided to recreate the missing piece. Wow. It took me as much time to resurrect that damn mouse as it took Ron to unearth a tree stump.

The first challenge was to cut a puzzle piece that would snugly fit into the missing space. I needed a laser but had to make do with craft scissors, a very poor substitute. Once I got a piece that sort of fit, I faced the next challenge: enlarging the teeny tiny image of the mouse on the puzzle box to the same size as the missing piece. Other people may know how to mathematically calculate what percent enlargement on the printer would yield the right size. Not me. I tried increasing it by 15%, then 20% then 25%. The amount of money I used for ink probably exceeded the cost of the entire puzzle. Each time I enlarged the image, the mouse got fuzzier and fuzzier.

The reinvented puzzle piece.

The last step was the toughest. I had to cut the mouse image to fit the substitute puzzle piece and make sure it lined up with the neighboring pieces. Again, craft scissors are not up to such a precise task. When I finally finished I realized the cardboard I used was awfully thin so I reinforced it. More cutting and gluing.

I was pretty pleased with the final product. I went to show Ron but he was sound asleep. Apparently unearthing a tree stump the size of a dishwasher is more tiring than recreating a puzzle piece.

Surviving the COVID-19 Test

Taking a free, drive through COVID-19 test exposed my weaknesses as an old person.

The free testing began at 7:00 am. After reading all the stories about people waiting in line for hours, I told my husband we would be IN LINE by 6:30 am. As I have aged, I have become more and more nervous about time issues. Off we went, Sudoku puzzles and coffee mugs in hand with snacks to sustain us in case we would be there for hours. We arrived at the civic center parking lot and took our spot as number 5 in line. I expected to be about number 50 so this was pleasant surprise.

I was reminded of the time we visited our son in Chile. We were spending a few days in a remote part of the country and had to travel to a distant local airport for a connecting flight back to Santiago. I insisted we leave 5 hours early. We easily got to the airport by bus only to discover the terminal was not yet open. For two hours we sat on the curb. If looks could kill, my son would have committed matricide.

The COVID-19 testing started on time. I see my family doctor at the testing tent. I immediately open my cell phone photos to the many, many pictures of my new grandson. Dr. Rosie delivered my daughter and I know she wants to see pictures of my daughter’s baby. Just before we arrive at the station, Dr. Rosie disappears. I think she anticipated me bombarding her with baby pictures and beat a hasty retreat. Just in case Dr. Rosie reads my blog I am inserting a picture of Molly and Leo.

Testing for COVID-19 involves inserting a 6-inch long swab through the nose to detect if the nasty virus is hunkered down in the respiratory system. There is some discomfort but the procedure is fast. What really hurts is thinking of the pain suffered by the 150,000 Americans who have died from COVID-19 and the thousands more struggling to recover.

The whole process took 45 minutes (including our 30 minute early arrival time). We returned home, snacks untouched. We left the volunteers and folks administering the tests to suffer through one of the hottest days of the summer. The temperature passed 90 degrees by noon. All the staff were swathed in protective gear so the heat must have been unbearable.

We received a little card with the web site address of where we could learn the results within 24-72 hours. . The second characteristic of my getting older kicked in: I am more and more impatient. At precisely hour 25, I started going to the web. I was dogged in my determination to get the results. I went to the site early and often. It took about 8 tries before the results were available. Good news: no Covid! The most depressing part of getting my results was entering my date of birth using the scroll down menu. Whoa. I REALLY had to scroll down since the list started in year 2020 and I had to get all the way to 1948. It was like watching my life flash before my eyes: 2020….1990….1980….1970……1950….1950…1948. My spirit sagged with each decade I passed.

No matter. I may be old but I am Covid free.

For now.